


Five Times Fitzwilliam Darcy Shared a Bed With a Woman

by sixbeforelunch



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, Prequel, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixbeforelunch/pseuds/sixbeforelunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm importing some older stuff over to AO3. Readers at AHA may have already seen this one.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Five Times Fitzwilliam Darcy Shared a Bed With a Woman

**Author's Note:**

> I'm importing some older stuff over to AO3. Readers at AHA may have already seen this one.

**Mama's Boy**

It was early in the morning when Nurse explained it to him. He had a brother and then he didn't. The Lord took Henry and he went to heaven to be with the angels. Fitzwilliam didn't understand why the Lord wanted his little brother. Fitzwilliam had begun to like Henry for he had started to do things and didn't just lie there and cry all the time. If the Lord was going to take him, why didn't he take all of them, so they could all be in heaven with the angels? It didn't make any sense.

Nurse told him that it was naughty to question the Lord and that he mustn't do it when his father came in.

He three when his brother died. Years later, he wouldn't be able to remember what his brother looked like, but he would remember that it was a bright summer day when his father came in and hugged him so hard he couldn't breathe.

His father explained that Mama had asked for him and that Fitzwilliam must be very good and not upset her. Then he picked him up and carried him down the hall. Fitzwilliam thought he could not remember his father ever carrying him before. Nurse carried him, and sometimes Mama, but when he was with his father, which was rarely, for a man of two and thirty has very little to do with a three year old child, he walked behind him, running to keep up with his father's long strides.

He had never been in Mama's bedchamber before either. Mama came to Fitzwilliam's room and she allowed him into her sitting room, but he had never seen her bed. Her room was decorated in green and gold. The sunlight coming in through the windows made the room seem to glow.

His father set him on the bed and talked softly to Mama, stroking her hair and kissing her on her forehead. Everything seemed strange today. Fitzwilliam had rarely seen his father touch Mama and he had never seen him kiss her.

His father left them alone then, and Fitzwilliam looked at Mama. She was lying on the bed, wearing her night dress with her hair spread out on the pillow. Her face and her eyes were red and swollen.

"Mama, are you ill?"

"No, my dear little one. I am only very sad."

Fitzwilliam frowned and lay down next to her. He wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her cheek like she did sometimes when he had fallen and hurt himself. She pulled him up onto her chest and stroked his hair and they stayed like that until Mama had fallen asleep and Nurse came to take him back to his room.

*

**His Brother's Keeper**

He should never have agreed to come. Indeed, he _hadn't_ agreed to come so much as he had been cajoled and coerced and subtly blackmailed until he could take it no longer.

At seventeen, there were a few things that Fitzwilliam Darcy held true with absolute conviction: that the opera always provided a superior evening out when compared to the theater; that Greek was the finest language ever spoken by man; and that nothing good ever happened when he came to Bath.

He cast another look at the whore stretched out on the bed. The room was small and sparse, holding only a bed. There was not even so much as a chair to sit down on, so he settled for standing, permitting himself one longing look at the door before dismissing the idea. If he left, he would face Wickham's taunts and knowing the man's perverse sense of humor, he had no doubt that if he ever again found himself unwittingly led to a brothel, the whore would very likely be either excessively old or excessively fat and in either case probably lacking most of her teeth.

The whore was looking at him rather uncertainly and with a steadying breath he said, "Madam, I feel I should inform you that I have absolutely no intention of--of bedding you. I respectfully request that you sit up and arrange your skirts."

She frowned at him and did as he asked. "You came to a whore house and you don't have no intention to bed a whore?"

"I did not come to a whore house, I was brought to a whore house." He sat down on the very edge of the bed, tired of standing. His feet ached from a day of being dragged from one end of Bath to the other in search of dubious entertainment. Inexplicably, he found himself divulging further, "My..." He hesitated to call Wickham a friend no matter how close they might have been just a few years prior. "My associate has decided that before leaving for Oxford I must be made more worldly. This, it seems, is accomplished by encouraging me to squander my allowance on card games and absurd wagers and by placing me in the company of women such as yourself."

Coming to Bath with only his valet and Wickham had been folly. His father had been assuaged by the knowledge that they were ostensibly under the care of Darcy's great uncle, but the aged man was nearly blind and hardly a guardian worth speaking of.

"I never before met a man who didn't want to bed me."

"I imagine you wouldn't have had many opportunities to do so," Darcy said. She was quite pretty and a part of him did desire her, but fortunately that part was entirely overpowered by his disgust at the very idea. She was looking at him quizzically and after several more moments of uncomfortable silence, she asked him pertly and with some offense why he didn't want her.

There were many reasons, foremost in his mind being the awareness that he would rather have a tooth extracted by an incompetent dentist than expose himself to a woman such as her, but he settled for the reason he thought her most likely to understand. "I've no desire to go to hell."

That silenced her. They sat on the bed, her with her arms crossed looking rather displeased with him and him staring at the floor wishing to be at home.

"How long does this usually take?" Darcy asked after a few more minutes had passed.

"This would be your first time?"

He nodded.

"Not long."

He blushed and in an attempt to disguise the reaction, he stood up and walked to the window. The street below was still filled with people despite the late hour. He inquired after the usual cost of her services and on being told that the price was nine shillings he pulled a guinea from his pocket and held it out. She reached out to grab it but he pulled back.

"In exchange for your silence regarding what happened and what didn't happen here tonight."

She nodded. He dropped the coin in her hand and moved toward he door. She stopped him with a hand on his coat and he just managed to keep himself from shaking her off. She mussed his cravat and unbuttoned the top three buttons on his waistcoat before finally running her fingers through her hair. She stepped back and looked him over. "Now you look like you been bedded," she said with a laugh and went out through the door, presumably to service her next customer.

There was a mirror on the wall, likely for those who did not wish to look as though they had been bedded. Darcy frowned at himself, wondering why he had come, why he had not expressed his disapproval of Wickham's actions in stronger terms, why he was willing to allow the _appearance_ of indiscretion if not the act itself simply to save himself from the taunts of a man who was far below him in all respects. Wickham was a great favorite of Darcy's father. Had he, perhaps, begun to emulate Wickham in some ways in the hopes of gaining the easy friendship that Wickham shared with his father? He shuddered at the thought.

No more. He straighted his clothes and fixed his hair and when he was satisfied with his appearance, he went downstairs and saw Wickham standing at, or rather leaning heavily against, the bar. He gave him a rather debauched smile and Darcy frowned deeply. He was tired and he ached and he was mortified for having behaved in such an absurd manner as to have found himself in this place at all. Wickham would have to learn to entertain himself because Darcy had every intention of sequestering himself in his room with a book for the remainder of their time in Bath.

Without a word Darcy turned on his heel and went out to the street. He hired a chair to take him home and took a very long bath before retiring to bed.

He never went anywhere with Wickham again.

*

**An Ideal Older Brother**

Darcy collapsed into bed just after one in the morning, thoroughly exhausted and numb rather than grieved. Saunders had once again proved his worth. The valet had undressed his master without a word of undesired sympathy and left him in peace. As tired as he was, his mind would not allow him to rest. It raced with thoughts, jumping from topic to topic, necessary task to necessary task. There were letters to write, people to be met with, matters of business to be attended. He would have to arrange for the funeral. He had never arranged a funeral before.

He must have slept because the world mercifully slipped away for a while and the next he was aware of was the sound of footsteps next to his bed. He rolled over and saw his sister standing next to his bed and looking very small.

"You should not be out of your room."

"Papa is dead."

"Yes."

"I do not want to be alone."

He held out his hand to her, helping her into the bed. Georgiana curled up against him, resting her head on his chest. "Aunt Catherine said I must come to live with her now, because a bachelor home is no place for a young lady. Must I truly go?"

"The will has not yet been read, but our father indicated to me that he left you to my care." 'Take care of your sister,' had been among his father's last words. "You will stay right where you are."

She relaxed. "I cried when Miss Porter told me." Darcy frowned. He should have told her himself, not left the task to the governess. "Did you cry?"

"No...not...no."

"Did you cry when Mama died?"

He sighed. "Very much."

"Because you were younger then?"

"Because I was younger then." Because his mother had been everything to him and losing her had made him feel as though his very soul had been torn in two.

Georgiana murmured something indistinct and Darcy rubbed her back until he was sure she was asleep. He slept fitfully for several hours and rose as the first light of dawn was coming in between the curtains. He slipped out of bed and pulled the blankets up around her neck to protect her from the late autumn chill. He would have to tell Miss Porter where she was before the poor woman awoke and took to searching the house in a panic, thinking she had lost her charge.

His journal lay open on the writing desk. He took up his pen and his hand only shook slightly as he wrote.

_My father died at half past 11 o'clock last night._ He set down the pen only to take it up again a moment later and add, _Georgiana kicks in her sleep._

*

**The Difficulties of an Honorable Engagement**

Darcy had not quite closed the door to his room when Elizabeth came around the corner in what could only be called a state. She was looking behind herself and might have flown right by him had he not called out to her. She turned to him and said only, "Hide me."

He frowned in confusion and concern and opened the door to his bedroom to usher her in. Following her, he had not yet closed the door when he heard the voice of Mr. Collins calling for 'cousin Elizabeth'. Darcy shut the door as quickly as he could without being accused of slamming it.

Elizabeth sighed in relief. "He has spent the better part of an hour imparting all his knowledge and wisdom as regards the matrimonial state. I could not take another moment and I..." She broke off and looked around. Darcy realized suddenly that he had brought her into his room, unchaperoned. Elsewhere in Netherfield Bingley was giving Jane and Mrs. Bennet a tour of the house, Miss Bingley was writing to her sister, Georgiana was with Mrs. Annesley at the piano-forte, and Mr. Collins was still looking for Elizabeth, but right now, in this room, it was just them.

"Your room is very tidy," Elizabeth said. "I imagine everything is just where you want it."

"I have an excellent valet," Darcy replied. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her here, in his own room.

She favored him with a smile and moved slowly throughout the room, running her fingers over furniture, over books, over unlit candles and neatly folded handkerchiefs. When she moved to pick up the book on the table by the bed, he went to intercept her, but she was too fast for him, picking it up and reading the title.

"Evelina, Mr. Darcy? Do you find this to improve your mind?"

"Not at all. I find it to be entertaining light reading when I am tired but not yet ready to go to sleep."

He moved to take the book from her, but she moved away, keeping it from him. Her smile was teasing and her mood infectious. He made another grab for the book and found that he had captured her waist instead. She squirmed out of his grasp and backed away, still holding out her stolen prise as a lure. He caught her again and again she wrestled with him, but this time instead of escape all she accomplished was to send them both tumbling onto the bed.

They froze, lying side by side, his hand still around her waist, her hand on his wrist. She smelled like rose water and fresh autumn air.

He kissed her, more deeply and more passionately than he had ever kissed her before. When he pulled away, he saw that her breathing had quickened and her eyes were dark and wide.

"You taste like coffee," she whispered.

She tasted like nothing but her. 

"Elizabeth."

It meant nothing and everything.

And then she was under him with her graceful hands on his neck. He moved to kiss her again when she gasped and looked down. "Oh! What is that? Is that your--"

She broke off and they both blushed deeply. 

Under other circumstances it might have been funny, but these were not other circumstances. He scrambled off of her, mortified and ashamed of himself, and backed up so far that he bumped into the door to the dressing closet. "Elizabeth forgive me. There's no excuse for my behavior."

She sat up, slightly dazed and still blushing. "You were not the only one on the bed, sir."

He shook his head. "It's my responsibility. That I even placed you in such a situation..."

"I asked you to..."

He held up his hand and moved toward the door. A quick glance into the hall assured him that she could leave without being seen and he ushered her out quickly before his foolishness could harm her reputation. They could neither of them look at the other as he escorted her downstairs with the intention of leaving her with his sister in the music room. Before they reached Georgiana, though, they were found by Mr. Collins and Darcy, to spare Elizabeth, asked Mr. Collins if he would care to accompany him on a walk thus ensuring her peace. 

For several hours as Mr. Collins was privileged to share his dubious matrimonial wisdom with Mr. Darcy. It was, in Darcy's opinion, a more than adequate penance.

*

**Fatherhood**

Darcy was a steady sickroom presence. He had stayed with his father though his surgery for bladder stones, had helped to hold Fitzwilliam down when they dug the bullet out of his hip, and had knelt by the side of the bed with Elizabeth's hands gripped in his own on that horrible day when their fourth child had presented not a head or a bottom or a pair of feet but a hand and after many long hours and several attempts to get the child to turn, Elizabeth had suffered to have the babe ripped from her piece by piece as the only way to save her own life.

Despite previous experience and a strong constitution, he could not but be more strongly affected by his own child crying out in pain than he had been by the cries of others. Yet, there was nothing to be done for it. Elizabeth was gone to visit Mrs. James Moreland, formerly Miss Kitty Bennet, on the occasion of the birth of her first child and could not possibly return until at least two days hence and someone must hold Jane while the fracture in her arm was reduced. Nursing might not be the province of a man, but Jane had fought the nurse and begged for her mother and had not relented until he had offered himself as perhaps a poor substitute for a mother, but still preferable to her nurse.

When the most disagreeable of the business was over, Jane settled slightly, but gripped at his trousers when he tried to leave. The nurse began to gently pry her from him, but Darcy waved her away and felt his daughter relax against him as he stroked her hair. He resigned himself to staying in her bed until she fell asleep.

Darcy knew himself to be more involved with the care of Jane than was entirely common for a man, especially with a child of only six, but the only girl in a house of five boys must naturally attract more than her share of attention, and Jane, by virtue of having inherited the full weight her parents' resolve and stubbornness and intelligence, was nearly impossible for anyone but her parents to manage. They had gone through four nurses in six years. It did not bode well.

Today, however, she was only a little girl in pain who wanted her mother and was being forced to make due with her father. He asked her if she would like him to read to her yet received no answer but for her pressing her face tighter against his arm which he presumed to be a negative.

"Papa?" Jane whispered when he had begun to think her asleep.

"Yes?"

"When will Mama come?"

He had sent word express. If they all but killed the horses on the way home... "No earlier than Wednesday morning."

"I wish she were here now."

He shifted the weight of her head from the crook of his arm to his thigh, careful not to jar her injured and bandaged arm. "As do I."

"Mama always knows how to make things well again," Jane said and Darcy silently agreed. "I shall be like her when I grow up."

He thought of Jane's intelligent eyes roving the room, silently laughing at her brothers as they bickered and fought, content to wrestle with and torment one another and afraid of teasing their sister lest she respond in kind. He thought of poor eight year old Henry Bingley who had declared his love for his cousin and had a frog put down his shirt in retaliation. He thought of Jane fearlessly chasing the older boys off the youngest a moment before any of the adults realized that the teasing had gone too far and drying tears with the edge of her skirt.

"I am sure you shall," Darcy said and Jane drifted off to sleep.


End file.
